There are days when everything appears gloomy to us; the world, like thesky, is covered by a dark fog. Nothing seems in its place; we see onlymisery, improvidence, and cruelty; the world seems without God, and givenup to all the evils of chance.
Yesterday I was in this unhappy humor. After a long walk in thefaubourgs, I returned home, sad and dispirited.
Everything I had seen seemed to accuse the civilization of which we areso proud! I had wandered into a little by-street, with which I was notacquainted, and I found myself suddenly in the middle of those dreadfulabodes where the poor are born, to languish and die. I looked at thosedecaying walls, which time has covered with a foul leprosy; thosewindows, from which dirty rags hang out to dry; those fetid gutters,which coil along the fronts of the houses like venomous reptiles!
I felt oppressed with grief, and hastened on.
A little farther on I was stopped by the hearse of a hospital; a deadman, nailed down in his deal coffin, was going to his last abode, withoutfuneral pomp or ceremony, and without followers. There was not here eventhat last friend of the outcast--the dog, which a painter has introducedas the sole attendant at the paupers burial! He whom they werepreparing to commit to the earth was going to the tomb, as he had lived,alone; doubtless no one would be aware of his end. In this battle ofsociety, what signifies a soldier the less?
But what, then, is this human society, if one of its members can thusdisappear like a leaf carried away by the wind?
The hospital was near a barrack, at the entrance of which old men, women,and children were quarrelling for the remains of the coarse bread whichthe soldiers had given them in charity! Thus, beings like ourselvesdaily wait in destitution on our compassion till we give them leave tolive! Whole troops of outcasts, in addition to the trials imposed on allGods children, have to endure the pangs of cold, hunger, andhumiliation. Unhappy human commonwealth! Where man is in a worsecondition than the bee in its hive, or the ant in its subterranean city!
Ah! what then avails our reason? What is the use of so many highfaculties, if we are neither the wiser nor the happier for them? Whichof us would not exchange his life of labor and trouble with that of thebirds of the air, to whom the whole world is a life of joy?
How well I understand the complaint of Mao, in the popular tales of theFoyer Breton who, when dying of hunger and thirst, says, as he looks atthe bullfinches rifling the fruit-trees:
"Alas! those birds are happier than Christians; they have no need ofinns, or butchers, or bakers, or gardeners. Gods heaven belongs tothem, and earth spreads a continual feast before them! The tiny fliesare their game, ripe grass their cornfields, and hips and haws theirstore of fruit. They have the right of taking everywhere, without payingor asking leave: thus comes it that the little birds are happy, and singall the livelong day!"
But the life of man in a natural state is like that of the birds; heequally enjoys nature. "The earth spreads a continual feast before him."
What, then, has he gained by that selfish and imperfect association whichforms a nation? Would it not be better for every one to turn again tothe fertile bosom of nature, and live there upon her bounty in peace andliberty?
August 20th, four oclock AM--The dawn casts a red glow on my bed-curtains; the breeze brings in the fragrance of the gardens below. HereI am again leaning on my elbows by the windows, inhaling the freshnessand gladness of this first wakening of the day.
My eye always passes over the roofs filled with flowers, warbling, andsunlight, with the same pleasure; but to-day it stops at the end of abuttress which separates our house from the next.
The storms have stripped the top of its plaster covering, and dustcarried by the wind has collected in the crevices, and, being fixed thereby the rain, has formed a sort of aerial terrace, where some green grasshas sprung up. Among it rises a stalk of wheat, which to-day issurmounted by a sickly ear that droops its yellow head.
This poor stray crop on the roofs, the harvest of which will fall to theneighboring sparrows, has carried my thoughts to the rich crops which arenow falling beneath the sickle; it has recalled to me the beautiful walksI took as a child through my native province, when the threshing-floorsat the farmhouses resounded from every part with the sound of a flail,and when the carts, loaded with golden sheaves, came in by all the roads.
I still remember the songs of the maidens, the cheerfulness of the oldmen, the open-hearted merriment of the laborers. There was, at thattime, something in their looks both of pride and feeling. The lattercame from thankfulness to God, the former from the sight of the harvest,the reward of their labor. They felt indistinctly the grandeur and theholiness of their part in the general work of the world; they looked withpride upon their mountains of corn-sheaves, and they seemed to say, Nextto God, it is we who feed the world!
What a wonderful order there is in all human labor!
While the husbandman furrows his land, and prepares for every one hisdaily bread, the town artizan, far away, weaves the stuff in which he isto be clothed; the miner seeks underground the iron for his plow; thesoldier defends him against the invader; the judge takes care that thelaw protects his fields; the tax-comptroller adjusts his privateinterests with those of the public; the merchant occupies himself inexchanging his products with those of distant countries; the men ofscience and of art add every day a few horses to this ideal team, whichdraws along the material world, as steam impels the gigantic trains ofour iron roads! Thus all unite together, all help one another; the toilof each one benefits himself and all the world; the work has beenapportioned among the different members of the whole of society by atacit agreement. If, in this apportionment, errors are committed, ifcertain individuals have not been employed according to their capacities,those defects of detail diminish in the sublime conception of the whole.
The poorest man included in this association has his place, his work, hisreason for being there; each is something in the whole.
There is nothing like this for man in the state of nature. As he dependsonly upon himself, it is necessary that he be sufficient for everything.
All creation is his property; but he finds in it as many hindrances ashelps. He must surmount these obstacles with the single strength thatGod has given him; he cannot reckon on any other aid than chance andopportunity. No one reaps, manufactures, fights, or thinks for him; heis nothing to any one. He is a unit multiplied by the cipher of his ownsingle powers; while the civilized man is a unit multiplied by the wholeof society.
But, notwithstanding this, the other day, disgusted by the sight of somevices in detail, I cursed the latter, and almost envied the life of thesavage.
One of the infirmities of our nature is always to mistake feeling forevidence, and to judge of the season by a cloud or a ray of sunshine.
Was the misery, the sight of which made me regret a savage life, reallythe effect of civilization? Must we accuse society of having createdthese evils, or acknowledge, on the contrary, that it has alleviatedthem? Could the women and children, who were receiving the coarse breadfrom the soldier, hope in the desert for more help or pity? That deadman, whose forsaken state I deplored, had he not found, by the cares of ahospital, a coffin and the humble grave where he was about to rest?
Alone, and far from men, he would have died like the wild beast in hisden, and would now be serving as food for vultures! These benefits ofhuman society are shared, then, by the most destitute. Whoever eats thebread that another has reaped and kneaded, is under an obligation to hisbrother, and cannot say he owes him nothing in return. The poorest of ushas received from society much more than his own single strength wouldhave permitted him to wrest from nature.
But cannot society give us more? Who doubts it? Errors have beencommitted in this distribution of tasks and workers. Time will diminishthe number of them; with new lights a better division will arise; theelements of society go on toward perfection, like everything else. Thedifficulty is to know how to adapt ourselves to the slow step of time,whose progress can never be forced on without danger.
August 14th, six oclock AM--My garret window rises upon the roof likea massive watch-tower. The corners are covered by large sheets of lead,which run into the tiles; the successive action of cold and heat has madethem rise, and so a crevice has been formed in an angle on the rightside. There a sparrow has built her nest.
I have followed the progress of this aerial habitation from the firstday. I have seen the bird successively bring the straw, moss, and wooldesigned for the construction of her abode; and I have admired thepersevering skill she expended in this difficult work. At first, my newneighbor spent her days in fluttering over the poplar in the garden, andin chirping along the gutters; a fine ladys life seemed the only one tosuit her. Then all of a sudden, the necessity of preparing a shelter forher brood transformed our idler into a worker; she no longer gave herselfeither rest or relaxation. I saw her always either flying, fetching, orcarrying; neither rain nor sun stopped her. A striking example of thepower of necessity! We are indebted to it not only for most of ourtalents, but for many of our virtues!
Is it not necessity that has given the people of less favored climatesthat constant activity which has placed them so quickly at the head ofnations? As they are deprived of most of the gifts of nature, they havesupplied them by their industry; necessity has sharpened theirunderstanding, endurance awakened their foresight. While elsewhere man,warmed by an ever brilliant sun, and loaded with the bounties of theearth, was remaining poor, ignorant, and naked, in the midst of gifts hedid not attempt to explore, here he was forced by necessity to wrest hisfood from the ground, to build habitations to defend himself from theintemperance of the weather, and to warm his body by clothing himselfwith the wool of animals. Work makes him both more intelligent and morerobust: disciplined by it, he seems to mount higher on the ladder ofcreation, while those more favored by nature remain on the step nearestto the brutes.
I made these reflections while looking at the bird, whose instinct seemedto have become more acute since she had been occupied in work. At lastthe nest was finished; she set up her household there, and I followed herthrough all the phases of her new existence.
When she had sat on the eggs, and the young ones were hatched, she fedthem with the most attentive care. The corner of my window had become astage of moral action, which fathers and mothers might come to takelessons from. The little ones soon became large, and this morning I haveseen them take their first flight. One of them, weaker than the others,was not able to clear the edge of the roof, and fell into the gutter. Icaught him with some difficulty, and placed him again on the tile infront of his house, but the mother has not noticed him. Once freed fromthe cares of a family, she has resumed her wandering life among the treesand along the roofs. In vain I have kept away from my window, to takefrom her every excuse for fear; in vain the feeble little bird has calledto her with plaintive cries; his bad mother has passed by, singing andfluttering with a thousand airs and graces. Once only the father camenear; he looked at his offspring with contempt, and then disappeared,never to return!
I crumbled some bread before the little orphan, but he did not know howto peck it with his bill. I tried to catch him, but he escaped into theforsaken nest. What will become of him there, if his mother does notcome back!
August 15th, six oclock.--This morning, on opening my window, I foundthe little bird dying upon the tiles; his wounds showed me that he hadbeen driven from the nest by his unworthy mother. I tried in vain towarm him again with my breath; I felt the last pulsations of life; hiseyes were already closed, and his wings hung down! I placed him on theroof in a ray of sunshine, and I closed my window. The struggle of lifeagainst death has always something gloomy in it: it is a warning to us.
Happily I hear some one in the passage; without doubt it is my oldneighbor; his conversation will distract my thoughts.
It was my portress. Excellent woman! She wished me to read a letterfrom her son the sailor, and begged me to answer it for her.
I kept it, to copy it in my journal. Here it is:
"DEAR MOTHER: This is to tell you that I have been very well eversince the last time, except that last week I was nearly drowned withthe boat, which would have been a great loss, as there is not abetter craft anywhere.
"A gust of wind capsized us; and just as I came up above water, Isaw the captain sinking. I went after him, as was my duty, and,after diving three times, I brought him to the surface, whichpleased him much; for when we were hoisted on board, and he hadrecovered his senses, he threw his arms round my neck, as he wouldhave done to an officer.
"I do not hide from you, dear mother, that this has delighted me.
But it isnt all; it seems that fishing up the captain has remindedthem that I had a good character, and they have just told me that Iam promoted to be a sailor of the first class! Directly I knew it,I cried out, My mother shall have coffee twice a day! And really,dear mother, there is nothing now to hinder you, as I shall now havea larger allowance to send you.
"I include by begging you to take care of yourself if you wish to dome good; for nothing makes me feel so well as to think that you wantfor nothing.
"Your son, from the bottom of my heart,
JACQUES."
This is the answer that the portress dictated to me:
"MY GOOD JACQUOT: It makes me very happy to see that your heart isstill as true as ever, and that you will never shame those who havebrought you up. I need not tell you to take care of your life,because you know it is the same as my own, and that without you,dear child, I should wish for nothing but the grave; but we are notbound to live, while we are bound to do our duty.
"Do not fear for my health, good Jacques; I was never better! I donot grow old at all, for fear of making you unhappy. I wantnothing, and I live like a lady. I even had some money over thisyear, and as my drawers shut very badly, I put it into the savings
bank, where I have opened an account in your name. So, when youcome back, you will find yourself with an income. I have alsofurnished your chest with new linen, and I have knitted you threenew sea-jackets.
"All your friends are well. Your cousin is just dead, leaving hiswidow in difficulties. I gave her your thirty francs remittanceand said that you had sent it her; and the poor woman remembers youday and night in her prayers. So, you see, I have put that money inanother sort of savings bank; but there it is our hearts that getthe interest.
"Good-bye, dear Jacquot. Write to me often, and always remember thegood God, and your old mother,
"PHROSINE MILLOT."
Good son, and worthy mother! how such examples bring us back to a lovefor the human race! In a fit of fanciful misanthropy, we may envy thefate of the savage, and prefer that of the bird to such as he; butimpartial observation soon does justice to such paradoxes. We find, onexamination, that in the mixed good and evil of human nature, the good sofar abounds that we are not in the habit of noticing it, while the evilstrikes us precisely on account of its being the exception. If nothingis perfect, nothing is so bad as to be without its compensation or itsremedy. What spiritual riches are there in the midst of the evils ofsociety! how much does the moral world redeem the material!
That which will ever distinguish man from the rest of creation, is hispower of deliberate affection and of enduring self-sacrifice. The motherwho took care of her brood in the corner of my window devoted to them thenecessary time for accomplishing the laws which insure the preservationof her kind; but she obeyed an instinct, and not a rational choice. Whenshe had accomplished the mission appointed her by Providence, she castoff the duty as we get rid of a burden, and she returned again to herselfish liberty. The other mother, on the contrary, will go on with hertask as long as God shall leave her here below: the life of her son willstill remain, so to speak, joined to her own; and when she disappearsfrom the earth, she will leave there that part of herself.
Thus, the affections make for our species an existence separate from allthe rest of creation. Thanks to them, we enjoy a sort of terrestrialimmortality; and if other beings succeed one another, man aloneperpetuates himself.